


Golden Sands

by Zeldy_of_Skyloft



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: I love this robot so flippin much, Memories, My son is sad, Nintendo - Freeform, Robot, Skippy boi, he lost his family and crew and everything and it's just so...sad, imma write a longer story with him so stay tuned, recollections, waah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:00:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28092048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeldy_of_Skyloft/pseuds/Zeldy_of_Skyloft
Summary: LD-301N Skipper remembers his old life as he rests, devoid of hearing, sight, or feeling, upon the dock at the entrance to Lanayru Sandsea.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Golden Sands

**Author's Note:**

> Heeey, guys! So, about this story: I originally posted it on Wattpad under my username blehmaster, but decided to repost it here with a few edits thrown in. The story is about the little mustached robot in Skyward Sword, in Lanayru Sandsea. I fricking love that guy and I don't honestly know why. :P But anyway I loved him so much I made an ask blog about him here: https://ask-skipper-of-the-sandship.tumblr.com/  
> So go over there if you're interested. :) (Actually please go there if you like SS and Skipper and if you have a Tumblr account bc I haven't gotten many asks lately so yes I am shamelessly requesting asks bc the blog isn't really getting anywhere). :P  
> Ummm...oh! Spot the Star Wars reference! It's kinda obscure, but it's in the second paragraph. (Further hint: It's two words). Virtual chocolate to whoever finds it first!  
> Lastly (this note is getting very long whoops) listen to this music as you read the story: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_9dlCffVn4  
> It'll further enhance it. :)  
> I don't own LoZ or SS or any of the characters! Okay bye

For countless years Skipper had sat here on this dock, rusting away, his once bright expression faded to an eerie resemblance of what it used to be in those long ago days when. Silently he waited, his eyes blind to all around him, his world barren of sound and touch. Yet he had not forgotten that day, nor the panicked beeps and hums of his crew, nor the horrible rattling laugh of the pirate Scervo as he took command of the ship. No, that day was forever engrained deep within his memory bank, burned into the deepest part of him that nothing, and no one, could touch. And yet the things he wished to remember--the cheerful chatter of his son in the mornings before he left for work, the slap of hissing spume on the deck, the thrill he received as he guided the ship through glassy waters--faded further from his thought with each day that passed. Instead, he saw in his mind's eye the visions of his crew as they were hurled into the brig, the iron doors slamming shut with gloomy finality. He heard, over and over again, though his world was deaf to all else, the thundering roar of the cannonballs as they crashed into the ship, splintering wood and sending crew members into various states of malfunction. He remembered the feel of Scervo's iron claw as it lifted him into the air and tossed him into the sea, leaving him to deteriorate in the salty spray until somehow he was washed ashore on this dock. And since that day he had not been able to move, had always been in the same spot he rested in now, all his senses long vanished, not knowing whether his son was still existing, not knowing anything. 

Sometimes Skipper imagined he could feel the cool breeze of the sea blowing against his mustache, and thought he could see crystal water lapping against golden sand, and deep inside his rusty mechanisms he would feel a spark of hope that would soon fizzle when he realized his surroundings were still dark and the breeze he dreamed he felt was just the cold shuddering of his own dismal thoughts. It was moments like these when he sank to the lowest abyss of despair, thinking he would never again see his son, or hear the happy beeps of his crew, or view the Nayru's sacred flame burning deep in the Sandship and splashing the walls in colorful light. And often, during these times, his thoughts would begin to fade, and then, for a little while, he would be completely absorbed in blackness, with even his thoughts denied to him. 

But usually shortly after these instances of grief, a soft voice would pierce his memory, startling him back into thought. 

_Bzzt, Dad, be safe going to work, vrrm! Don't forget, phweep, we're going to chart stars tonight, zrrp!_

Time after time, that same soft, eager voice flared within him the very faint spark of life he so weakly clung to. And, though he could not physically shed tears in the decrepit state he was reduced to, he could in his mind, and he did so quite often, internally weeping over the happy voice of his son, the beloved voice that Skipper believed might bring him back from this darkness he was caught in, if he could only hear it in real life and not just in his memory. Had he known it, no manner of oils, or potions, or even his son truly speaking to him, could ever have brought him back to what he formerly was. 

Skipper could never have realized, of course, that, day after day, the owner of the voice that brought him back was often himself revived by his own recollection of a different voice, a voice he used to look forward to hearing each morning and night. A voice that told him about stars and water and all the fascinating things in the sea around him. A voice that inspired him to be a better robot. 

_Maybe, phweep, I can go on your ship someday, Dad!_

_Yes, son, bzzrt, I think we can arrange that, zrrp!_

Under the same stars that those two voices had so often conversed under, the owner of the small, soft voice, Skipper's beloved son, lay covered in dust in their home, fallen into the same hopeless condition his father was in, yet still he dreamed of his father someday returning, of everything being right again, of every day consisting of stargazing and silly jokes and tales of the wide sea his father ventured on. Even now he hoped that when that happened--for he firmly believed that it would--his father would look at him and say, _Hmm, you've become quite the grown-up robot, beep!_ , and then the two of them would board his father's ship together and sail away to sea. 

And under the same sun that his child had so often waited under, hoping he would return home, hoping, hoping, until finally he ceased to function, Skipper sat and dreamed of some kind creature taking pity on him, and restoring him, so that he could go home and be reunited with his son, and stargaze with him, and laugh at silly things, and tell of the courageous crew members who stood up to Scervo on that horrible day. And then he and his son would reclaim the Sandship, and free the crew, and imprison all the horrible pirates and monsters who took over their ship. 

_I miss you, dad, bzzt!_

_Zzrt, I miss you too, son._

They both knew in the deepest part of their rusty gears that they were only dreaming, that these things they imagined would never happen. But they could hope. And so hope they did, while stars faded and the sun burned bright and golden sands flowed past. 

**Author's Note:**

> ...I always get depressed thinking about Skipper, and listening to the Lanayru Sandsea music and the music in his shack...sigghhh. I guess I'll just have to write a long story soon about him.  
> Message me if you love Skipper as much as I! I would love to find a fellow Skipper fan :)))


End file.
